


there is nowhere i'd go without you

by ClassyFailure



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFailure/pseuds/ClassyFailure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>beyond the bubble,<br/>beyond the dream, <br/>as long as you are here, <br/>it does not matter to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is nowhere i'd go without you

He sits on the edge with his feet dangling over. Purple boots hand over the lilypad’s edge and they swing freely. He stares off into the blue of the bubble. There’s nothing, beyond this dream bubble, nothing but empty space and nothingness. He leans further over, gripping to the sides of the only this separating him from a comfortable existence and nothing.

 

Using his other foot, he slips the heel of his boot off and lets the whole shoe slide off, slowly, then topple over the edge. He watches, with ghost empty eyes, as it falls, falls, so far with no end in sight. He watches as it falls, falls, falls, falls, falls,

 

then disappears.

 

Curiouser,

 

he stands up and walks to a chest, the nearest one, and opens it up. With a pang in his heart he lifts up a little teacup with stiffly standing slender black cats, and apologizes silently to Meulin, who loved these cups so much. What a shame to drop them over. He makes a vow to repay her for it later.

 

Back to the edge, he does not sit down. Instead, he just leans, as close as he can get with tumbling over. His long, thin arm, with it’s bone patterned dressings, extends far out over the edge. He drops the cup. He watches it tumble. Down,

 

down,

 

down,

 

down,

 

twirling and spinning and toppling into the great nothing until it just

vanishes.

He leans back, his interest really peaked now, and wonders about the unknown. Could it be the end of existence in itself, or possibly a hellish land of torment and suffering, where the sinners and clumsy go? Maybe it is the release from this everchanging purgatorio that mimics the former lives of all it’s inhabitants. Maybe it leads to another bubble.

Maybe to another life.

 

Someone reaches out a hand and taps his shoulder. Not startled, not frightened, he does not leap off the edge in sudden irrational fear. Rather, he looks over his shoulder, and sees her.

 

Not very tall, not very wide, Meulin is greeting him with a wide smile, brightening up her blank (yet seeing) eyes. She strides forward to the edge with him, her toes in her small shoes peeking over the edge for her, sending the thrill of possible adventure up her spine.

 

And so he stands beside her, nearly two heads taller, one shoe missing, and he takes her hand. They lock fingers. Matesprited for centuries in this neverending stretch of shifting memories, they lock hands so tight as though they’d melt them together.

 

“One” she says, voice high and happy and full of hope.

 

He holds up two long fingers.

 

“Three”

  
and they both march off the edge to their tomorrow.


End file.
